The GC Fairy Tales
by Esse
Summary: Includes Goldilocks, Three Little Kitte—err—SeeDs, yeah, that's it..., and Balamb Town Musicians. Excessive ingesting of grat; read at your own peril.
1. Goldilocks

_**Disclaimer:**_Square_ owns the characters from Final Fantasy VIII. Esse owns keychains of the characters from Final Fantasy VIII. Esse thinks her possessions are much happier than _Square's_. Make no mistake about it, if Esse had owned Seifer, he'd of been doing something a lot more interesting than fishing at the end of the game.  
_

_**Notes: **__Umm, what can I say? I was working on __Guidance Councillor__, really! Then this long, scaly thing slithered out from underneath the cans of yams and bit me on the ankle… It must be the grats. Yeah, that's it, the grats made me do it… This is based loosely on events that occur in __GC__, which really won't help you much, since __GC__ is still sitting around on my computer waiting for me to finish it.  
_

_**Warnings: **__Esse can't keep her fairytales straight. Bright Lady knows whom all I've ended up stealing from. heehee, guess you should also be aware that Esse wrote this with the help of her electronic dictionary. Be very, very afraid! Esse's verbose.  
_

_**FF Notes:**__ Written the beginning of 2000. __First posted at calicodragon 2/27/2001. Minor formatting changes to comply with FF.__ Minor corrections. __Shounen ai. Guidance Councillor will never be released for various reasons…_

.oO0Oo.  
**Goldilocks  
**.oO0Oo.

Once upon a time there were three SeeDs. Well, to be accurate, there was one SeeD, and two other young men who had contrived to receive SeeD pay without passing the SeeD Field Exam. Their duplicity had not yet been noted by Balamb Garden's harried staff, which was much too busy trying to find alternative food sources to supplement the steady diet of grat which all the residents were getting heartily sick of. In the interim, the two young men were taking advantage of their unexpected good fortune; skipping out on classes, wearing SeeD uniforms, and harassing the younger students. To the best of everyone's knowledge, they were Seeds, and so no complaints were filed.

Anyway, the three SeeDs shared a single room in the dormitory. They would have much preferred separate rooms, but due to serious overcrowding they had been forced to live together until repairs to Galbadia and Trabia Gardens had been completed. They had been assured that the situation was temporary; they had been assured that weekly for the last four months. The tallest of the SeeDs responded by brandishing his gunblade, the longhaired one lovingly polished his rifle, and the youngest shrugged, murmured, "Whatever," and walked off.

Thus, the three SeeDs had to learn how to tolerate one another, though it was no easy task. They had never been friends, and being forced into close proximity with one another only exacerbated an already less-than-ideal situation. The longhaired one took to playing practical jokes, while the tallest one took up needlepoint. The youngest, who was also the most phlegmatic, watched the deterioration of his roommates in disinterest, shrugged, and became the designated cook.

So it was that on this particular morning the youngest SeeD (who also happened to be the shortest of the trio) was hovering over a small butane cook stove, trying to prepare breakfast for himself and his cohorts. He had long since given up trying to access the burners in the cafeteria; a contingent of Trabia students had taken up residence on top of them, and refused to budge for anything less than dinner preparations. It was an inconvenience he was growing accustomed to, and his attempts at cooking food on the tiny camp stove were slowly improving.

Seated a few feet away upon a plush recliner, the tallest SeeD (who also managed to be the crankiest) looked up from the dainty lace doily he was busy crocheting and frowned at the long-haired SeeD (who by the slimmest of margins won the title of vainest). "Hey Kinneas, could you stop fiddling with those flowers already?"

Irvine Kinneas flipped back his long hair, and stared at Seifer with disgruntled violet eyes. "The longer you keep nattering at me, the longer it'll take me to finish peppering these things. What's the matter, those long underwear you knitted yourself itching someplace inconvenient?"

Seifer Almasy pointed one elegant, slender crochet hook at the longhaired SeeD. "You're just jealous that I've got a change of underwear."

"Hah!" Irvine smirked, while twirling a long-stemmed rose between his fingers. "_You're_ just jealous that I'm getting away without wearing any underwear at all!"

"Now that," Squall said, shaking his mealy porridge spoon at Irvine, "is just plain sick." Picking up a chipped blue bowl, he filled it with porridge and sat it on the nearby table, next to an equally shabby green bowl and a bright orange soup mug. "…Well," he motioned the other two SeeDs to join him, "breakfast's ready." The youngest man sat, and stared glumly down into the congealed gray substance cowering at the bottom of his bowl.

Grumbling, Seifer got up out of his chair and claimed his orange mug, making a detour to the counter to pick up the tray of condiments the trio used to make their meals edible. With a dark look at the contents of his cup, he sat, picked up a small bottle from the tray, and liberally poured a brightly colored sauce into his mug. He stirred the hot cereal slowly with a spoon, wincing at the thick, slurpy noises the porridge made as it tried to devour the utensil.

Equally wary, Irvine prodded at his breakfast carefully before choosing a condiment; after a few moments dithering, he selected a small bag, ripped it opened, and dumped the contents into the drab green bowl. He gently folded the tiny bits into the mixture, then reluctantly lifted the spoon to his mouth. He took the tiniest of tastes, then gagged, hastily covering his mouth with the hand not holding the spoon. "Yuck, not again, Squall! This is the second time this week you've made grat porridge. I can handle grat steaks, and the grat-teriyaki bowls were actually almost edible, but forcing us to eat grat porridge is too much. What are you trying to do, poison us?"

Seifer sniffed warily at his spoon then dropped it, letting it clatter against the rim of his soup mug. "I hate agreeing with anyone, but this time Cowboy's right. Grat porridge twice in one week is too much for even the staunchest SeeD to bear." He pushed his mug towards Squall. "And seeing as how you're the staunchest SeeD in Balamb Garden, and I haven't seen you take a bite of this mush, I feel absolutely no obligation t' try an eat it."

"Well…" Squall's face went curiously blank, and the other two boys knew he was carrying on a deep and introspective conversation with himself. They had often speculated on _what_ exactly he talked to himself about, seeing as how even the longest of the youngest SeeD's silent soliloquies led to decisions of the most asinine nature. Both would have been pleased to learn that at the moment Squall's id, instead of offering an intuitive solution or a dream-like flashback, was throwing a temper-tantrum on the floor of Squall's mind, clawing and biting at anything in reach, and yelling at the top of its voice, 'No No NO! I'm not eating grat porridge again!' It was soon joined by its brethren ego and superego, and the young man eventually yielded before their combined ire. Squall's eyes cleared, and he sat his spoon down on the table. "Maybe the porridge is just too hot. If we leave, go on a walk or something, and let it cool down…"

"You're kidding, right?" Irvine choked, prodding at his breakfast with trepidation. "If we let this stuff cool down, it'll gain sentience, then where will we be? With another roommate, that's where."

"Stop being so melodramatic. It's been proven that it takes grat porridge three days to gain intelligence enough to crawl out of its bowl." Seifer stood, and grabbed his trench coat from the back of his recliner, absent-mindedly leaving his crochet hook on the seat. "Look at it this way, it can't be any _worse_ by the time we get back. And while we're gone, we won't have to look at it, or smell it."

Squall left the table to find his jacket, while Irvine tossed on his duster. He came back, trying to brush off the light-blue lint that covered his expensive, dry-clean only garment. "Any ideas on where we should go?"

The longhaired man grabbed his shotgun and opened the door. "How about the training center? We could go after a T-Rexaur, maybe get some real meat for a change."

"Sounds good." The tallest man ran a hand swiftly through his ruddy blond hair in a futile attempt to slick it down. "Should be a challenge. With the cadets killing off most of the grats, the T-Rexaurs have taken t' eating each other. Made the ones that are left wily."

"…" Squall distinctly commented, and closed the door to their room. "…" he tried again, waiting for a response from the other two youths. Crossing his arms, he said loudly, "…" When that failed to gain their attention, he stomped one booted foot and shouted, "!?!"

Irvine turned around at the sound of the footfall. Seeing the youngest SeeD glaring at him, he sighed, and shook his head in resignation. "You forgot again, didn't you? How many times do we have to tell you, Squall; we can't hear you if you don't say anything out loud. We're not mind readers, you know."

Blushing a faded dusky rose, Squall pouted while Seifer hastily turned a snigger into a cough. "…Who has the key?" Irvine checked his pockets then shrugged, while Seifer held out his empty hands to be inspected. "Great," the youngest SeeD muttered, pulling at a lock of his auburn-tinted hair in distraction. "We can't lock the door. You guys are irresponsible; what happened to the _Hello Kitty_ keychains I gave you?"

"You have to ask?" the tallest SeeD smiled meanly, and started walking down the corridor. "Just leave it, its not like anyone's going to break in and steal our grat porridge."

"Yeah," Irvine seconded, running to catch up with the other faux SeeD. "Not that _that_ would be a tragedy. 'Oh no!'" the violet-eyed boy wailed in a quivering falsetto, "'Someone ate my grat porridge, and now it's all gone!' Heh, shame we don't have that kind of luck. No one here is desperate enough to brave Squall's grat-surprise-of-the-day except us."

Squall gave one final doubting look at the unsecured door, then followed his companions. "I'm still the Commander here, you know," he whined in complaint. "Next time you can make your own stupid breakfast."

.oO0Oo.

Down a different hallway, another SeeD was being pushed out of his residence by one of his roommates. "Lemme go!" he said furiously, struggling futilely against the hold the much larger man had on him. "I said…" he started again, then squeaked in surprise as he was picked up off the ground and tossed out the door. Flailing wildly in midair, he twisted a second too slowly and landed on the floor in a painful heap. "Ow!" he yelped and jumped to his feet, rubbing at his sore bottom. "Whadja do that for?"

Raijin shrugged, unapologetic. "We're having a party, ya know? And you're not invited."

The small SeeD tried running back into the room, but was blocked from entering by Raijin's bulk. "How could I not be invited? I _live_ here!"

"DOESN'T MATTER." Fujin came to stand next to her partner, her small pale form standing out starkly from the other's large shadow. "NIDA GONE TOO. NO WUSSES ALLOWED."

"I'm not a…" the small SeeD started to scream, only to be stopped by the lump forming in his throat. He fisted his hands tightly at his sides, and stood as straightly as he could. "Why are you guys always picking on me?" he asked in a voice which trembled almost imperceptibly.

"Umm," Raijin scratched at his head, clearly nonplussed. "I'm not really sure…OW!" he stumbled as his partner kicked his shin.

"STUPID." Fujin glowered at the large dark man disgustedly with her single crimson eye. She then turned her disconcerting stare upon the small SeeD standing forlornly out in the corridor. "IT'S FUN," she told him, gesturing with her hand. "YOU'RE SHORT. SILLY HAIR." Fujin chuckled, grabbing one of her own tresses and waving it at the young man. "GOLDILOCKS!"

"I am not!" the small SeeD wailed, while his two tormentors burst into hysterical laughter. "You — you…" words failed him, and he stood shaking in impotent fury. "Fine then! I don't want to hang around for your stupid party anyway! I've got _important_ stuff t' do." He stuck out his tongue, which only caused the two other teenagers to laugh harder. "Jerks!" Face crimson in embarrassment, he stomped down the hall, pausing only once to kick an unassuming water fountain.

"GONE?" Fujin asked quietly, the laughter suddenly stilled.

"Yeah, looks that way," Raijin replied, walking back into the room.

"About time," the pale girl smiled, closing the door gently and throwing the bolt. "I thought we'd never be rid of him." She arched one eyebrow coyly, and leapt at her muscular friend. "Hey lover, ready to party?"

Raijin hugged her back, a dazed, happy expression on his face. "Zell's bed or Nida's?"

.oO0Oo.

The small SeeD meandered slowly down the hallway, hands deep in his pockets and shoulders slumped. Every few steps he'd scuff one bare foot along the beige carpeting. "Big bullies," he moped, unobtrusively rubbing at his damp eyes. "They could of at least given me time ta grab my shoes." Unconsciously, his hand reached up and toyed with a strand of hair. "Goldilocks indeed!"

He paused, unsure of where he was. He'd had no destination in mind when he had started walking, and contrary to what he had told Fujin, he had no place in particular he needed to be. A glance at the nearest door informed him that he was in the third wing of the dormitory. He quickly recalled the room assignment list for the wing, then snapped his fingers in sudden decision. Squall was housed in room 327, and it had been almost a week since the short blonde SeeD had last pestered him.

With new determination Zell marched along the brightly lit corridors, pausing only once when it occurred to him that he was as likely to run into Seifer as he was to meet up with Squall. "Aw heck," he whispered, fidgeting. "So Seifer might be there, big deal. It's not like he could come up with anything more humiliating than Goldilocks." Nodding his head, he walked up to room 327 and knocked firmly on the door.

Away in the training center, Squall stepped back from the grat he was butchering, and shivered in foreboding. Taking advantage of its attacker's distraction, the grat crawled into the underbrush, where it thankfully planted itself and converted to vegetarianism.

Zell knocked on the door a bit more loudly. "Yo, anybody home?" Not getting an answer, he punched the door lightly in irritation. To his surprise, it swung neatly open on its well-oiled hinges. "Oh wow," the small SeeD uttered worriedly, guiltily lowering his fist. He poked his head through the doorway, and surveyed the dimly lit interior. "Hey Squall?" he called out, planting his elbow against the doorjamb. "Like, I didn't mean t' bust your door in." Greeted by silence, he took a miniscule step inside. "Umm, Irvine? S-Seifer? Anybody?"

Getting no reply, he finally accepted that no one was in. "Now isn't that strange?" He examined the door in puzzlement. "Huh, looks like they forgot t' lock it." The small SeeD shook his head in agitation. "What am I supposed t' do now? Anybody could just walk right in…" The light bulb that appeared over his head blinded a Trabian student at the end of the hall. "That's it! I'll stay and protect the place till Squall gets back!" Pleased with his solution, he darted into the room and slammed the door closed behind him.

The first thing the small blonde SeeD noticed was the horrific stench of the room. He couldn't identify the source of the noisome odor, so he settled for opening a window. He stared at the view enviously; his room overlooked a maintenance closet. However, he knew that his invidiousness was mean-spirited; Squall was Commander of Balamb Garden, and thus had a room befitting his rank. A tiny, querulous voice at the back of his head irritably demanded to know what Seifer had done to earn such posh accommodations, but he quickly shushed it.

However, the view could not hold his attention for long, and he soon turned to survey the room. "Too cool, they've got a TV!" he exclaimed, as he rushed over to examine it. Zell practically fell to his knees in worship at the sleekly black 21" screen, and he quickly snatched up the remote resting on the stand next to the television. Wiping one hand hastily across his mouth to make sure he wasn't drooling, he reverently pushed the power button on the remote, and sat back on his haunches as the gray-toned screen slowly flickered into glowing, technicolored life.

Rapturously he watched a commercial for fertilizer, then changed the channel to _Home and Garden_. "Ohhh, Boukie Wenkle is on!" Sure enough, there on the screen was Boukie in all of his 4'8" splendor, amicably pulling weeds and planting tulip bulbs inside a small border along the east wall of Deling City's Presidential Palace.

_"Now remember," _Boukie warned his audience (which at the moment consisted of Zell and the President of Esthar), _"you don't want to plant your bulbs too deep, or they won't sprout come Spring."_

Zell nodded in avid agreement while he slowly backed across the room to the nearest chair. Gripping the armrests, he sat upon the chair, only to yip in pain and spring to his feet. Boukie Wenkle momentarily forgotten, he spun around to see what had poked him so sharply. In dismay, the small SeeD picked up a golden crochet hook from the cushion of the recliner. He tilted his pale blonde head to the side, and squinted at the hook through slitted eyes. Finding no answers in its slim length, he allowed his gaze to stray, where it fixed upon the pile of lacy white doilies he had inadvertently knocked from the armrest. "Too weird," he groused, setting the hook back down.

He walked over to the next chair, a squat, lumpy thing upholstered in an unappetizing shade of green leather. Philosophically figuring that beggars couldn't be choosers, he cautiously sat down on it. When nothing untoward immediately happened, he allowed himself to relax. Curious, he ran one finger along the leather in exploration. Suddenly he stopped, his vivid azure eyes widening in dismay as his finger encountered a large patch of something damp and greasy feeling. With meticulous care he worked himself out of the chair, and inspected his hand. It was covered in gun oil, as were his pants and the back of his shirt.

"Great, just great," the blonde boy snapped as he peeled off his stained shirt. "I don't have laundry privileges till Tuesday." Unbuckling his belt, he quickly slipped off his shorts and kicked them into a corner, where he soon threw his shirt as well. "Hell, I don't even know how t' get out gun oil. Maybe I can ask Quistis; she must know something about laundry, she spends all her time down there with those socks…"

Glumly he eyed the third seat, a severe straight-backed wooden chair that looked highly uncomfortable. Gingerly he lowered himself down on it. He rocked it back then forward, finding it to be stable. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned his attention back to the television, and Boukie Wenkle, who had moved on from bulbs and was now explaining the difference between weeds and wildflowers. Soon, the brightly-lit box had resnared the youth with its hypnotically alluring pictures.

The loud knocking on the door jarred Zell out of his blissful trance. Grumbling, he got up and made his way across the room, stubbing his toes once along the edge of the recliner. He shook his arm threateningly at the doily-covered chair, promising it retribution later on. A fresh burst of knocking convinced him to hurry. Yanking the door open, he placed his hands on his hips and glared at the intruder. "Yes?"

Standing out in the hallway, Rinoa looked at Zell in astonishment. "Umm, well," she stuttered, pushing her gray wig back into place, "I was looking for Squall…"

"He's out," the small SeeD answered curtly, catching the music to the end theme of Wenkle's show. "Can I take a message?"

"Well, you see…" Rinoa pulled her voluminous black cloak tighter about herself, and held out a wicker basket. "I'm trying to earn money for my SeeD tuition by selling these apples I've picked from the Quad." She peered hopefully up at the blonde SeeD through thick, heavily mascara-smeared lashes. "They're wonderfully sweet, very nutritious, and a welcome break from all the grat we've been eating. Would you like to try one dearie?"

Zell looked at the apples in the basket, and his mouth began to water. They looked delicious, and he'd had nothing to eat since he'd managed to down a slice of Nida's mince-grat pie. He reached to pick up one of the vibrantly red pieces of fruit, then hesitated. "Eh Rinoa, are you still a witch?"

"Yesss," the raven-haired girl replied reluctantly. "It's not the sort of thing I can just quit, you see."

"Uh huh." The small SeeD quickly sat the luscious apple back into the basket, suddenly nervous. "And by any chance are these apples poisoned? Say with some potion that'll cause whoever eats one to fall into a death-like slumber, their only hope for a cure being a kiss of true love?"

"Maybe," Rinoa acquiesced reluctantly. As Zell goggled at her, she hastily defended herself. "Oh, what did you expect? I'm a witch! It's what witches do. It's either this, or bake gingerbread in a house made out of little kids." She rolled her eyes woefully. "This witching stuff's not as easy as it looks." She brandished one of the apples at the young man. "Take this for example. Did you know that the spell only works on people with lips 'red as blood' and skin 'white as snow'? I mean, c'mon! How many people fit that description here?"

Eyes sparkling mischievously, Zell hinted, "Have you tried selling Fujin an apple?"

"Huh?" Rinoa scratched at a small itch by her nose, accidentally scraping off one of her fake warts. "Why would I…Oh!" Picturing Fujin in her head, the witch-in-training allowed a huge smile filled with sharply pointed teeth to cross her face. Impulsively, she darted forward and hugged the small blonde boy. "You're the greatest, Zell! Thanks!"

"Believe me, it's my pleasure," the young man declared with a smile of his own.

"I'm off then." Rinoa pulled the hood back over her head, then shook it back down. "Ah, Zell? Mind if I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he replied, puzzled.

"Why exactly are you in Squall's room wearing nothing but boxers decorated with little blue PuPus?"

"Oh, go sell some apples!" he replied crossly, firmly closing the door on the disguised witch. He looked down at his underwear and frowned. "What's wrong with them? I thought they were cute…"

Shrugging, he started back towards the wooden chair when he noticed the three bowls lined up on a small table to his right. Curious, Zell picked up the orange soup mug and examined its contents, paying no heed to the way the contents examined him in return. He stirred it dilatorily, taking note of the gruel's thick consistency and noxious miasma. Smiling softly at the ugly orange mug, he sat down at the table, and lifted up a spoonful of the gray substance. "There's only one thing that could smell this bad; Squall's infamous grat porridge."

Now it must be noted that few dishes had gained the notoriety that Squall's grat porridge had achieved. Many students had tried and failed to produce a meal that rivaled the porridge's sheer grossness factor, though Selphie's grat mousse came a close second. Squall's porridge was already a legend; it was the subject of many new folktales, and it was rumored that a small group of shumi had deified it. Few were brave enough to eat it (the last daring SeeD that had tried was still tied down in the infirmary under psychiatric evaluation). However, none of this phased Zell, who figured that since he had survived Headmaster Cid's grat stroganoff, he could certainly manage to eat Squall's porridge. Hunger can make a person do strange things, and Rinoa's scrumptious apples had reminded him that he was ravenous.

Zell lifted the spoon to his mouth and took a large bite, chewing against its grainy texture. Then he chewed more slowly. Soon, he stopped chewing entirely and turned a fiery red. "Waah!" the small SeeD cried, waving his hands at his mouth. "Hot, hot…" He rushed to the nearby sink and turned on the faucet full blast. With nary a second thought he plunged his head under the icy stream, sucking in as much water as he possibly could. After a few agonizing minutes the burning sensation in his mouth faded, and he reached out with one trembling hand to turn off the faucet. He straightened, and his wet hair dripped tiny rivulets of water down his neck and back.

Angrily, he snatched the small bottle that had been next to the orange mug, and read its label with an increasing sense of incredulity. "Tabasco sauce? Who in their right mind eats an entire bottle of Tabasco with their breakfast?" Flipping back one straggling lock from his wet bangs, he put the small bottle back on the table. "Skip that, who could possibly stand to have Tabasco mixed in with their grat porridge? I didn't think there was anything a person could do to make grat _worse_."

With trepidation he peered into the drab green bowl, checking it for the ominous pink tint that would warn of the presence of Tabasco. Seeing only pallid gray sludge, he dipped his spoon quickly in, then stared at the porridge in fascination. It was somewhat lumpier than what was in the orange mug, but Zell attributed that to the fact that it may have been sitting around longer. Crossing his fingers, he took a taste.

The first thing he noticed was that the lumps were not chunks of improperly boiled grat. Instead, they were sweet, almost sickeningly so. Grimacing, he spit one of the lumps out into his hand, hoping to discover what it was. ~It — it looks like one of those chocolate candies the little kids like so much~ he thought, poking at the small sphere with the tip of his finger. It certainly explained why the porridge was so sweet. Holding onto the edge of the table, Zell managed to swallow what he had in his mouth. He then sat there, breathing shallowly, hoping he'd be able to keep it down.

For a brief moment, he looked longingly at the empty Tabasco bottle. The overwhelming taste of chocolate covered grat was making him nauseated, and he was willing to try almost anything to get the flavor out of his mouth. "They're sick!" Zell whimpered, pushing away the drab green bowl in consternation. "I don't know why anyone would want to, but they've managed ta make Squall's porridge even more putrid than it was. It shouldn't of been possible…"

The young man was close to admitting defeat as he pulled the third and final bowl towards him. The chipped, dark blue dish weighed heavily in his hands; the porridge rested complacently in the bottom. Lower lip quivering, he brought up a spoonful, trying to ignore the way it dribbled slimily back into the bowl. "Third time's a charm," he whispered in fervent prayer, and stuck the spoon in his mouth. Eyes closed in concentration, he tried to figure out how the third bowl of gruel had been sabotaged.

It was with true delight that he discovered that the only thing he was tasting was the rubbery, slightly musty taste of Squall's infamous grat porridge. It was a tad cold, and a bit gluey, but after his previous two encounters, it seemed like ambrosia. With renewed enthusiasm he tossed the spoon away, raised the bowl to his lips, and slurped up the rest of the porridge, taking care not to breath in for, even though it was edible, it was still made out of grat, and nothing made out of grat could ever taste _good_.

Heaving a sigh of contentment, he sat the bowl down and contemplated his stomach, which rumbled unhappily back up at him. "Oh hush now," he warned it, patting it reassuringly, "at least you're full. It's better than being empty, ain't it?" Unsure, his stomach gurgled a final complaint then quieted. "That's the spirit," he cheered. "Just sit back and try to digest."

He got unsteadily to his feet, eliding a twisting in his gut where the bowl's worth of porridge sat like so much course sand. A particularly sharp pain caused him to stumble against the recliner. He reached out his left arm to catch himself, only to end up pricking his thumb on the sharp, golden crochet hook resting on the cushion. The small SeeD fell to his knees and gaped dazedly at his wounded digit, where a bright bead of brilliant red blood was welling.

"Of all the luck," he croaked, bringing his thumb up to his mouth and sucking on it, grimacing at the metallic taste. His stomach cramped again, and the walls of the room wavered at the edges of his vision. "Maybe eating the porridge wasn't such a good idea," he mused, then gasped as a wave of queasiness hit him. Clenching his arms tightly about his middle, he staggered back to his feet. "Maybe — maybe lying down will help." The small SeeD yawned hugely, fighting back weariness. "Don't know why I'm so tired all of a sudden."

Teetering alarmingly, shivering with a sudden chill, he drifted into the back room, and came upon the first bed. Through doubled vision he could see the bedspread, a frothy construction of white upon white, with tiny white crocheted roses stuck upon tiny white crocheted crosses. In disbelief, he reached out to touch the pristine quilt, only to have his hand sink into the downy softness up to his wrist. He jerked back his arm, appalled. "A — a person would suffocate if they tried to sleep there."

Raising his hand to cover another yawn, he noticed that his thumb was still bleeding. Aggrieved, he stuck it back into his mouth. "Stupid crochet hook," he mumbled around it, only vaguely aware that the sickening taste of grat was fading from his senses. For some reason, the pricked digit continued to bleed. Zell hunched his shoulders, and turned to the next bed.

It was covered in a plain green comforter, and looked to be neatly made. He tested its pliability, and found it to be reassuringly firm. Eyes glazing with fatigue, he pulled back the blankets, then froze, horrified at the sight that lay before him. The sheets were stained, filthy, and covered with things he didn't want to think about. The dizziness he had been fighting off returned in full force, and he flung the comforter back to its original position before he had a chance to faint.

"Oh, oh, how gross, how revolting…" His legs finally gave out, and Zell found himself abruptly sitting on the third bed. He was too dazed to notice, though, and he continued to look at the second bed in horror. "How could he?" the small SeeD whimpered. "He musta had a fight with Selphie, but, oh gee, he could at least wash his sheets… Yuck, I'm never gonna shake his hand again…"

The energy from the sudden burst of adrenaline faded, and the blonde boy slumped bonelessly down on the third bed. Groggily, he breathed in the smell of detergent, and he rubbed his cheek against the crisp texture of heavily bleached linens. "Just right," he murmured, and with the last of his strength, he crawled underneath the pale blue bedspread. Sucking once more on his wounded thumb, his eyes fluttered closed for a final time, and he slipped into a deep, peaceful slumber.

.oO0Oo.

Seifer stormed furiously down the hallway, his gunblade slashing out at his side. "Well, that was a waste of time," he snarled, coming close to impaling a younger student who was walking in the opposite direction. "We were there to find something decent t' eat, and what do you do, Squall? You go about hacking apart every grat that crossed our path." The tallest SeeD wanted to pound something, preferably the youngest of the trio. "Grat! The cafeteria now has enough grat to last until the end of next week."

"Now, you're not being fair," Irvine interjected. "There wasn't anything else left to hunt, not after the way you scared off all the T-Rexaurs." The longhaired man laughed in remembrance. "I didn't know those lizards could look so shocked! It was priceless, the way that T-Rexaur's eyes bugged out when you started gnawing on its tail."

"I was hungry," the fair headed man defended himself.

"Yeah, sure," Squall said, miffed. "It just didn't occur to you that we all could have eaten it if you had just bothered to kill it _before_ you started snacking on it?" His face expressionless, he turned the doorknob to their room. Although he tried not to show it, he was extremely disappointed that they had failed to bring down one of the giant reptiles. "Now we're stuck eating porridge for breakfast."

"Don't remind me," the violet-eyed youth shuddered, and stepped into the room.

"Maybe we were lucky," Seifer mused, trying to cheer the long-haired SeeD, "and it evolved while we were gone. Maybe it's civilized enough to sign a pact of non-aggression with us." He walked over to his chair, and began frowning when he noticed that all of his doilies had been knocked to the floor. "Okay, which one of you idiots messed with my crocheting?"

"Don't look at me." Irvine walked over to inspect the mess, then gave a low whistle. "Whoa Almasy, I didn't know you were such a sadomasochistic bastard."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Irvine pointed out the blood-spotted crochet hook. "I'm talking about that. It must take balls to prick yourself that badly without making a sound. Squall and I never knew you'd hurt yourself."

"I didn't," Seifer growled, picking up his golden hook and glaring at it. "Squall, someone came in and sat in my chair while we were gone!"

The youngest SeeD came over and crouched down, examining the fine drops of red that marred the floor. "Well, I don't know if they actually sat in your chair, but someone _was_ in here." His brow furrowed, and he glanced over to the longhaired SeeD's chair. "We do know that the intruder sat in Irvine's chair."

"What?" Irvine darted forward, and patted down his chair, checking for harm. "Ack, someone did sit here! They ruined the coat of oil I'd polished it with."

"Well, at least they didn't bleed all over it like they did with mine," Seifer grouched, picking up his doilies from the floor and rearranging them back on the arm rests.

"I don't see why the two of you are complaining," Squall commented from next to his own wooden seat. "The intruder spent most of his time sitting in my chair."

"How can you tell?" the tallest SeeD asked.

Squall bent down and retrieved the fallen remote control. "He left this here. It's my guess he, or she, came in and watched TV." He turned the television on, and the screen flickered to life. "Hmm, _Home and Garden_." He quickly turned the show off. "I don't think we have anything to worry about. Anybody who watches _Home and Garden_ of their own free will is harmless."

"Harmless?" Seifer spluttered, outraged. He held out his orange soup mug in the palm of his hand. "The freak took a bite of my porridge!"

"You're kidding!" Irvine gaped in disbelief. He left off rubbing the slick leather of his chair and trotted up to the table. He looked into his own green bowl incredulously, then started laughing wheezily. "I don't believe it. I absolutely do not believe it. Someone ate out of my bowl, too!"

The youngest Seed finally neared the table, and picked up the heavy blue-enameled dish. One eyebrow quirked sharply upwards, and something that suspiciously resembled a smirk flitted across his lips. Mimicking Irvine's earlier falsetto, Squall tipped his conspicuously empty dish at the other two men and squealed, "Oh no! Someone ate my grat porridge, and now it's all gone!" While his companions favored him with dark looks, the hazel-eyed man sat his bowl back down and wagged an admonishing finger. "And that's why we lock our door before we go out. Otherwise any deranged freak can come in and steal our breakfast."

"You have issues," Irvine accused him.

"Don't we all?" Seifer asked philosophically while shrugging out of his trench coat. "This has just been too weird. I'm tired from all that exterminating we did in the training center. I think I might go lay down for a bit; I've got a late class this evening." He entered the back room, then spat out a scathing expletive which brought the other two men hastily into the room to investigate. "I don't frickin' believe this," he swore, pointing at the indentation marring the fluffy surface of his quilt. "Someone's been messing around with my bed!"

"Mine too," Irvine added, gesturing to his hastily thrown comforter. "This is getting bizarre; you don't think it could be a stalker, do you?"

At the back of the room, Squall shook his head and lifted up his bedspread. He settled it gently back down, then lifted it once more, but the view remained unchanged. The humor of the situation leaked into his voice as he quietly called out, "Someone's been sleeping in my bed, and look, he's still here!"

The two other young men hurried to their Commander's side, and they all looked down at the peacefully sleeping Zell. The small blonde was curled up into a tight ball, and as if aware of his watchers' scrutiny, muttered something softly and turned over onto his other side, causing his damp bangs to straggle down his face.

"How cute!" Irvine cooed, "He's sucking his thumb."

Even Seifer was moved by the tranquility of the scene. "Look, he's wearing little PuPu boxers, isn't that darling?" he whispered.

"…Well," Squall stared at the disarmingly childish boxers, which had hitched up revealingly in places, "yeah, I guess. So what do we do? Wake him up?"

"Oh no, I couldn't," the longhaired SeeD denied, backing off. "The poor little guy looks plumb tuckered out. Guess the porridge didn't agree with him." He turned back once at the doorway, and cocked his head. "Although it does make me wonder, Squall, what it is you've been doing to the porridge, that it was able to take Zell out?"

"Quit complaining, it's not like you could cook anything better," Squall retorted, pulling the blanket he held back down. "I guess it won't hurt anything if we let him sleep it off. I don't think he's been able to get much rest lately, what with having Raijin and Nida for roommates." He also started walking out of the room. "You coming Seifer?" he twisted his head back and asked.

"In a moment." The ruddy blonde SeeD waited until his cohorts had left the room, then gently eased Zell's thumb out of his mouth. He looked at it intently, observing the bruise that darkened the pale flesh, and the trickle of new blood that worked its way from a small slash along the ball of the boy's thumb. "Ah, so you're the one that pricked himself on my crochet hook."

He sat down on the bed, and brushed the limp locks of golden hair out of the boy's face. "Well," he stated lowly so as not to be heard by his companions in the other room, "there's two choices I could make. One, leave you here sleeping forever, or two, wake you up with a kiss. Now which should I choose? I suppose I could always wait and see if one of the other guys could gather up enough courage to break the spell — but alas," Seifer sighed, "I think they're all cowards. Would it frighten you, to know that your fate lies in my hands?" He chuckled softly, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Somehow I doubt it. More likely than not, you'd just be pissed."

Placing his arm to the right of Zell's head, Seifer leaned down till his lips were almost touching the smaller boy's own petal pink ones. Slowly he crossed the distance that separated him from the slumbering blonde, and with surprising gentleness kissed the younger boy; a light brush of lips on lips, almost too ethereal to be felt. Task done, he drew back, and waited for the sleeper to awaken.

Delicate, blue-veined lids flickered briefly before opening to reveal clouded azure eyes. Zell gazed dreamily at the face hovering above his own, still caught in the last vestiges of his dream. "Seifer," he murmured sweetly, reaching out to cup the other's face in the palm of his hand.

"Chicken-wuss," the scarred youth answered back winsomely, leering down at the drowzy boy.

"Whaa?" Suddenly realizing what he was doing, the small SeeD snatched his hand away as if it had been scalded, and started blushing a fiery red. "Seifer?!? What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that question. You do know that you were sleeping in Squall's bed, practically nude?"

"I am no…" Zell peeked underneath the bedspread, then pulled it tightly about himself. "Ack! What happened?"

Grinning maliciously, Seifer pulled the blanket back down. "Well, let's see. You broke into our dorm room, sat in our chairs, ate all our porridge, and slept in our beds. It rather reminds me of a story Fujin was telling me last week…"

"Oh no, no no nonono!" Zell hid his face in his hands, wondering why no one had yet discovered a magic that could make a person disappear.

"What was it called again?" Seifer scratched at his chin thoughtfully, enjoying the small SeeD's discomfiture. "Of course, how could I have forgotten. It was called Goldilocks." It was all the tall man could do to keep his composure as Zell's entire body blushed in mortification. "Heh heh, and do you know what the Papa bear did to Goldilocks when he found the little brat asleep in his bed?"

"Umm, invited her for tea and crumpets?" Zell hazarded.

"Nah, he decided to eat her for breakfast instead!" Seifer leapt at the startled young man, who shrieked and rolled off the bed in a tangle of sheets. Growling, the tall SeeD allowed his prey just enough time to free himself from the bedding before lunging again.

Terrified, Zell ran from the room, yanked open the front door, and started sprinting down the hall, Seifer hot on his heels. Bemused, Irvine got up and closed the door. "Squall, do you think we should help him?"

The youngest SeeD lifted his shoulder in indifference. "Which one?"

Before Irvine could answer the door swung open once more, and Seifer entered proudly with his catch pinned securely over one shoulder. "Don't mind me," he assured his roommates while Zell frantically pounded on his captor's back. He repositioned his struggling burden and headed for the back room. "If you need me, I'll be in bed." The last coherent thing the two men in the front room heard was Seifer cackling in glee. "Finally, I've got something decent ta eat!"

An ominous silence descended. After a short interval, small noises began to break the quiet. Irvine blushed at the suspicious sounds coming from the back room. "I — I think I promised Quistis I'd help her with something," he said vacillatingly, then fled the room.

"…Whatever." Squall rolled his eyes, and joyously went back to his eavesdropping.

"Seifer!" Zell screeched, "Give me back my boxers!"

"Nyah nyah! Make me!"

.oO0Oo.

_**And yet even more notes:**__ Tada, all done! And it prolly only hurt a little bit, huh? Now that this is out of my system, maybe I can go back to __Guidance Councillor__…how do you pronounce procrastination? Okay, here's the fairytales I've managed to screw up. The most obvious would have to be __Goldilocks and the Three Bears__. Rinoa and her apples came from __Snow White__. And Seifer's amazingly sharp golden crochet hook got its inspiration from the spindle used in __Briar Rose__. There may have been more, but those are the ones I was aware of writing ^_^ Liked it? __Tell me__. Hated it? Blast away. Flames will be read and wept over, praise will be printed out and posted on the fridge, held up with my cherished Goofy magnet. _


	2. Three Little Kitte, err, SeeDs

_**Disclaimer:**__ If'n they were mine, I wouldn't be needin' a disclaimer, now would I? Everything that belongs t' _Square_, belongs t' _Square_. Everything that belongs to Robin Bailey, belongs t' Mr. Bailey. Whatever's left, I guess, is mine… _

_**Notes:**__ Unhappy being limited to fairy tales, Esse decided to start picking on poor, defenseless nursery rhymes. Which one should be obvious. Esse also tossed in more _Enchanter_references than any sane person ought. Anyone who can pick them all out will win… eh… my ever-lasting amusement? This takes place in the __Guidance Councillor__ universe; I'll actually finish it someday, and everything will become clear ^_~ _

_**Warnings: **__This is _all_ Maiji's fault. Totally. I take no responsibility for my actions. =P~ _

_**FF Notes:**__ Written early 2000. First posted to calicodragon 2/27/2001. Minor formatting changes to comply with FF. Minor corrections. Shounen ai._

.oO0Oo.  
**Three Little Kitte—err—SeeDs,  
yeah, that's it...  
**.oO0Oo.

Zell wasn't in the best of moods. That morning Raijin, whose day it was to cook, had presented for breakfast a splintery selection of various trees' bark. It seemed that, due to extreme over-hunting grat had become scarce, and the large man had needed to improvise in order to make any sort of meal at all. The blonde boy had then gone to get dressed for the day, only to discover that Nida had done his laundry. Consequently, his favorite black tee shirt, along with the rest of his wardrobe, was now two sizes too small. He'd ended up having to wear Raijin's red 'Winhill is for Lovers' muscle-tee; it draped ludicrously on Zell's paltrier frame. To top off his already crummy morning, Squall had called him, arbitrarily canceling his vacation time and ordering Zell to report to his room to receive instructions on a priority assignment.

His lower lip sticking out in a childish pout, he headed for the Garden Commander's quarters. Reaching the door, he banged against it noisily, not caring that he making a spectacle of himself. "Yo, I'm here! Open up ya bums. I'm hungry, I'm cranky, and I'm bored…" He increased the tempo of his knocking, rattling the door in its frame. "Tch, fine then, you won't answer, I'm going into Timber t' do some shopping."

The door swung inward, and Irvine looked at the small blonde curiously. "While you're there, maybe you should buy yourself some new clothes."

Blushing the same shade of red as his 'Lovers' shirt, Zell pushed past Irvine and entered the front room. "Ha ha. What is this, pick on Dincht day? Yo Seifer," he hailed the tall blonde man seated in the plush recliner by the window.

Seifer looked up from his knitting and waved his needles in greeting. "Chicken-wuss."

Wrinkling his nose cutely, Zell chose to ignore the insult. He looked towards the food preparation area, and spotted Squall sitting at the table, a large, cluttered assortment of equipment in front of him. "Well, I'm here, what's this hush-hush, top secret, FYEO, drag-me-from-my-day's-plans mission about anyway, baby?"

Irvine chuckled, and placed a wide headband, replete with furry cat ears, securely on Zell's head. "Glad you asked. Cid wanted us to test out some equipment Xu's been working on. The ears not only work in a surveillance capacity, picking up suspicious sounds, but also operate as a communications device, tracking system, GPS, and perform a few other neat tricks that we're not classified to know."

At the table, Squall looked up from the device he was working on. "Then there's these." He tossed a long, slender, and above all, furry object over to the lavender-eyed man.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot." Irvine smiled charmingly, holding out his arm to display the new gadget. "This is the antenna for the system. It too is multi-purpose. Its micro-robotics allow it a full range of movement, and this patch here," he pointed it out, a small square less than an inch in diameter, "picks up bio-electric signals directly from your spinal cord, allowing you to take over motor control of the contraption should the need arise. It's supposed to help with agility, and act as a counterbalance during gymnastic maneuvers."

"It's a cat tail," Zell snapped, fuming, "just like these," he patted his head gingerly, "are cat ears. You've gotta be kidding me."

"I wish it were a joke," Squall answered, standing up and putting on his own gear. "Xu has a warped sense of humor. She pitched some extravagant presentation to Cid, and he fell for it. The field-test is the result of his direct order. And he specifically requested the three of us," he pointed at Zell and Irvine, "to carry it out. So, we go out, be good, obedient little SeeDs, and finish this mockery of an assignment as soon as possible."

"Aw man!" Chastened, Zell took the fuzzy white tail out of Irvine's hand and proceeded to put it on. Conscientiously, the scarred, chestnut-haired man came over and helped him apply the more delicate wiring.

*'Okay now, lesson number one: the ears respond to sub-vocalizations only'* Squall told the group, his lips barely moving. Zell heard his voice as a quiet echo directly in his ear. *'Check to make sure you have the communication connections working properly.'*

*'Mine seem to be fine'* the longhaired man replied confidently.

*'This is totally beyond bizarre'* Zell offered, faintly reassured that he got no feedback from his own transmission. *'We look like mumbling nitwits…but, I hafta admit, the system seems to work.'* Picking up on his approval, the long, furry tail began to twitch. *'Whoa!'*

Irvine tried stifling his laughter, causing it to be transmitted over the communications channel. *'Pretty good, Zell. Squall tried for a half-hour this morning, but couldn't get his tail to move. Looks like you're a natural.'*

The small blonde boy grinned proudly, and swung his new appendage around. He was pleasantly surprised by its natural movements; he'd been expecting the motion to be jerky at best. Concentrating, he curled it into a question mark, then let it drop naturally downwards. *'Heh, just call me the cat's meow.'*

The two laughing boys were astonished to learn that Squall's disapproving "…" came across their receivers as a series of sharp clicks.

*'We should get going.'* The hazel-eyed man readjusted his ears carefully. *'We're suppose to engage in battle with whatever comes along; if the encounter lasts less than 10 minutes, we're to seek out another skirmish, until our accumulated fight time totals 15 minutes. Take precautions; don't put the equipment at risk. Xu will skin us alive if we damage her koneko accouterments.'*

*'Koneko? She actually went ahead and called these getups koneko outfits?'* Although he had spent most of the morning joking about the new peripherals, even Irvine was having a difficult time digesting Xu's name for her creations.

*'Like I said, she has a _really_ warped sense of humor.'* Going to the corner to collect his gunblade, Squall nearly tripped over his uncooperative tail. *'Do you have any idea how long it took me to convince Headmaster Cid not to call us the Kitty Corps?'* Picking up Lionheart, he swung it around gracefully, and using an arcane secret only known to those who use overly-large, sharply-pointed blades, secreted it about his person.

Being a non-armed combatant, Zell wanted terribly to learn the secret. His own theory was based on the belief that Squall had exceptionally oversized, inter-dimensional pockets hidden inside his pants. After all, late one night when Rinoa had imbibed a bit too much sparkling apple cider, she'd described what else her boyfriend had hidden in his pants, and _that_ didn't show at all, either.

He had yet another theory that explained all of the superfluous belts…

*'Well, we better be going'* Irvine said, resting his shotgun over his shoulder. *'Like you said, sooner out, sooner done.'* He walked over to the door, and opened it.

"Later Seifer," Zell called out, throwing him a casual salute, which was mimicked by his tail.

"Wait a second," the tall blonde commanded, getting up from his recliner. "I've got presents for ya; just finished up the last pair." He stalked towards the trio of cat-boys waiting suspiciously by the door.

One thought ran uneasily through all their minds. ~Seifer doesn't _give_ presents.~

Smirking, his lips almost twisted into a real smile, the ruddy blonde youth held out three pairs of multi-colored — somethings. "See? I've knitted you mittens. Blue for Squall, green for Irvine, and red for the Chicken." He thrust his creations into the other boys' hands, beaming with delight. "Go ahead, put them on."

"Umm, we appreciate the gesture Almasy, but we already have gloves." Irvine held out his hands so the other man could see.

Seifer's grin dimmed, and his pale-blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Put _on_ the mittens; I'm not gonna tell ya again."

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Squall pulled the fluffy blue mittens on over his black leather gloves (which were in actuality made from low-grade vinyl, a secret only Rinoa, and thus Zell and several others, knew). "They, ah, look great, Seifer."

The tall blonde's smile returned, frightening in its intensity. "I'm glad you like them. I made them the exact color blue as all the lint on your jacket."

Quietly, Irvine slipped his mittens over his dark-brown, fingerless gloves. "Yeah," he said, flexing his hands inside the virulently green yarn, "they're really nice."

Staring down at the red mittens clutched in his fist, Zell queried his teammates. *'What's going on? This is stupid! I'm not gonna put these stupid things on.'*

*'Yes you are'* Squall replied, his jaw tense. *'Seifer's not quite back to his old self; there's still some trauma left over from when Rinoa turned him into a Moomba. Just humor him, or he's liable to go berserk.'*

*'I told Squall he shoulda been left in the infirmary until his urge to bat things around subsided, but nooooo….'* the lavender-eyed man added.

Zell blinked, glancing uneasily over to Seifer, who was in turn staring avidly at the smaller blonde, waiting. *'Lighten up Irvine. I'm the one that convinced Squall to let him out; he looked so lonesome…'* He looked back down at the bright red hand-wear. *'The mittens are too small. There's no way I'll be able to fit them on over my gloves.'*

*'Then take off your dueling gloves!'* Squall barked. *'If you thought Seifer was nasty under the control of Ultimecia, you don't want to see him throw a temper tantrum. We haven't been able to replace all of the stuff he broke last time, and then he pouted about it for days'*

The petite blonde boy frowned, and started removing his gloves. *'I've gotta bad feeling about this. We're about to go out and fight monsters, and I'm supposed t' leave my only weapons behind?'* Mobile lips puckered into a moue of distaste as he put on the mittens. *'And why is my pair the only one with pom-poms?'*

*'Best guess? I think Seifer likes you!'*

*'Shut up, Irvine! It's just because of your stupid class…'* Zell flushed in embarrassment, and tucked his dueling gloves into one of his shorts' pockets.

*'Stop chattering'* Squall ordered. *'Now, thank Seifer for the mittens, then we can get out of here.'*

Curling his fingers inside the scratchy yarn cloth, Zell patted the fluffy ball on his right hand. It didn't budge. He looked up at Seifer, who was eagerly awaiting his verdict. "Thanks man." His tail brushed the taller man's leg bashfully. "These are, like, really neat…" The smaller blonde grabbed his wayward tail and pulled it back. "Warm, and fuzzy…"

"Heh." Seifer patted Zell fondly on the head, then returned to his chair. "I knew you'd appreciate 'em. It was hard, deciding what color to use. Squall's were already blue, and black is just _so_ depressing."

"Red's perfect." The petite youth edged towards the door, where his two companions had already escaped. "I've — gotta be going now; the mission, and all. You take care, okay?" Zell didn't want to admit it, but he was slightly worried over Seifer's behavior. He wondered if Rinoa's counter-spell had been entirely effective.

"Sure thing. I've just started work on a scarf to match your mittens. It should be finished by the time you get back." He waved the younger man out the door. "Take care!"

"Y-yeah…" Losing his courage, Zell bolted from the room. *'Guys, I think we should get him looked at. Something's really wrong.'* The door to the Commander's quarters swooshed shut.

Seifer tossed his knitting needles to the floor, and began laughing uproariously. ~Oh, that was too much. I never thought they'd fall for it!~ Brushing stray bits of lint off his vest, he headed towards the table. ~Irvine's not the only one that can hoodwink the gullible. Now, on to step two…~

.oO0Oo.

Bouncing nervously, Zell scanned the nearby terrain. His ears twitched, trying to pick up any indication that a monster might be within range. His tail, currently possessing a mind of its own, was drawing picturesque 8's in the air. *'Something isn't right. We've been out here for two hours now, and haven't found _anything_ larger than a mouse. Either Raijin's been through here recently huntin' for dinner, or something else has eaten the local wildlife.'*

Kicking idly at the tip of his gunblade, Squall was tempted to concur. *'There hasn't even been an Anacondaur… This place is usually crawling with them.'*

Tipping his wide-brimmed hat back, Irvine looked up from where he was sprawled lazily against a large granite rock. *'Normally, I wouldn't complain about the peace and quiet, but I've got a date with Selphie tonight. You know how long it takes me to get ready.'*

*'No, not really. You always get thrown out of the showers. None of us know how long you'd stay in there if you weren't driven off.'* Craning his head, Zell peered suspiciously into the neighboring grove of trees. *'Did something just move in there?'*

*'Quit being so jumpy. If anything was close, our ears would pick it up.'* The longhaired man pulled his hat over his eyes, and leaned his head back against his hands. *'It wouldn't do you any harm to spend a little more time on yourself.'*

*'What's wrong with the way I look?'* Zell asked indignantly, his tail lashing behind him furiously. He caught a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye. *'Wait, don't answer that…'*

Squall's choked laughter sounded in their receivers.

*'Whatever you say, koneko.'* Irvine crossed his legs, and smirked. *'My lips are sealed — unlike Squall's, who's proving he has a sense of humor after all. Now, if you're done pestering me, I think I'll nap until something interesting shows up.'*

*'I know I saw something moving in those trees'* Zell mused, ears perked forward. He took a step towards the woods, then halted in astonishment, his mouth dropping open in shock. *'Eh, Irvine'* he called out faintly, *'I sorta think you might want to reconsider that nap…'*

*'Why? It's a beautiful day, not too hot, not too cold'* the lavender-eyed man sang dreamily. *'The birds are singing, the crickets are chirping…'*

*'And the ruby dragons have learned how to sneak up on their prey without making a sound!'* Azure eyes gone huge, Zell ran back to the group. *'Dammit Irvine, get up, it's coming straight towards us!'*

The lanky young man scrambled to his feet in disbelief. *'Nothing that large could sneak up on us, Dincht, not without…'* He found himself looking at a huge, glossy-red dragon, running at full-speed directly at him. *'Squall! We've got company! Zell wasn't kidding.'*

*'I see it.'* The chestnut-haired man drew his gunblade, and moved to the front of the group, his ears laid flat against his head. *'Get ready to back me up.'* Taking a steadying breath, he lunged forward, and smacked the rampaging dragon along the side of its neck. Lionheart's blade skittered across the scaled surface and glanced off, causing no damage.

Irvine took careful aim with his shotgun, and fired. The reverberation of the shot echoed about the clearing. The ammo, which was normally enough to shred anything unlucky enough to be in its path, bounced harmlessly off the dragon's glittering hide.

The dragon blinked its huge golden eyes, and stumbled to a stop. Zell took this as his cue, and darted in, throwing a punch at the dragon's nose. The blonde's focus narrowed as his fist descended, covered not in his normal Ehrgeiz gloves, but the cheery red mittens Seifer had given to him that morning. ~Oh man, I'm dead! Guess this is it, baby.~

The tableau froze, with Zell's fist resting lightly on the dragon's nose. His hand had never reached its destination; the large, fluffy pom-pom had gotten in the way. The young man paled, yet still ventured a hesitant smile. "Nice dragon, pretty dragon…" His tail was stretched out behind him, the bristling fur making it appear double its normal width. *'Help?'*

A deep, rumbling sound began, then the dragon hissed. Zell's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise as his ears' communications sputtered with static, then murmured to him, *'Why hello there, gorgeous!'*

*'Okay guys, that is like, _so_ not funny! Stop makin' fun of me, and come save me.'* The small blonde continued grinning sickly at the dragon.

*'I — I don't know what's going on'* Squall ventured a pace forward, *'We didn't say anything, Zell. We both heard it, though.'*

At the same time, another voice came through. *'Who do you need saved from, sweetie?'*

*'Look, I don't know who you are'* Zell quavered, his nerves shot, *'But if you're anywhere close by, there's this really big ruby dragon about to eat me…'*

*'Really?'* The dragon snaked its head about sinuously. *'I don't see anything… but don't worry. I'll protect you!'*

*'You don't _see_ anything?'* The blonde boy trembled. *'How hard are you looking?'*

*'Umm, Zell'* Irvine ventured, reloading his gun with pulse ammo. *'I _think_ you're talking to the dragon.'*

*'What do you mean, 'talking to the dragon'? How could I possibly be…'* Zell's smile melted. *'Remind me to thank Xu when we get back, okay? Or, if I don't make it out of this alive, thank her for me, 'kay?'* Trembling with tension, he slowly pulled his hand away from the dragon's nose. *'I know this is gonna sound stupid, but could the person who's been talkin' to me blink their eyes?'*

Snuffling in reptilian mirth, the dragon winked coquettishly. *'Sure can, sweetie. Now, who do I need to save you from?'*

*'I guess — no one.'* Zell shook his hands, trying to gesture the other two men back. *'Unless — are _you_ going t' eat me?'*

*'Me? Heavens no! I just wanted a little taste.'* With no more warning than that, the dragon whipped out its tongue and licked the tattooed boy up his side, from his knee to the tip of his ear. *'You're just _too_ adorable, sweetie.'* It rolled one of its large golden eyes, taking in Zell's 'Lovers' tee. *'What do you say? I'll fly us to Winhill, just the two of us. It'll be so romantic.'*

Pulling his slimy short leg away from his body, Zell made a face. *'Eww! You slobbered all over me.'* With no further thought, he pulled off his denim shorts, and after wiping off his arm and neck, tossed them to the side. *'Look, it's a kind offer…erm…'* He wondered how he should address the dragon. Sir didn't seem to cover the situation.

*'I'm Chuck.'* If a lipless reptile could smile, Chuck was doing it then. And if a lizard wasn't capable of ogling, Chuck was doing a fair impression of it.

*'Pleased t' meet cha, I'm Zell.'* For the first time in his life, the young man was glad his mother had made him read 'Dealing with Dragons'. *'It'd be fun goin' with ya, but we've only just met. We don't know a thing about one another…'*

*'You're wearing red. I just love a guy in red.'* Chuck gently prodded the boy with his nose. *'That's enough for me.'*

*'We're also two different species…'* Zell trailed off, a puzzled look on his face. *'That is, unless you're another of Rinoa's accidents.'*

The ruby dragon cocked its head, confused. *'Who's Rinoa?'*

*'It's not important,'* the azure-eyed boy hurried on. *'Then there's the fact that, well, I'm kinda already seeing somebody right now…'* Irvine hastily bit his hand to keep from laughing, and the corner of Squall's mouth quirked. *'...so you see, things really couldn't work out between us. Perhaps, if we'd met sooner…'* Zell faked a sigh, and his tail drooped.

*'I understand'* Chuck said sadly. *'I hope your boyfriend knows how lucky he is.'* The dragon ducked his head, and its scales blushed violet. *'Would you mind giving me something to remember you by?'*

His own cheeks scarlet, Zell tore off his mittens. *'Will these do? I could tie them around one of your claws'* he offered.

*'Ooh'* the dragon peered closely at them. *'They're red! And all fluffy and soft!'* He extended his foreleg, and the blonde youth carefully knotted the mittens around the longest talon. Chuck lifted his leg, and examined his newest bangle. *'Thank you so much! The hens back home are going to be _so_ jealous.'* He put his foot back down. *'I guess this is good-bye, then.'*

*'Yeah. It was a pleasure meeting you, Chuck.'* Feeling a tad more confidant, he patted the dragon lightly on the nose. *'Maybe I'll see ya around.'*

*'You can count on it, sweetie!'* Winking one last time, the dragon turned around, and left as silently as it had come.

Squall approached the now solitary Zell and clasped him on his shoulder. *'You handled that well. We're lucky Xu built a translator into the ears. Otherwise, I think you would have fainted dead away when Chuck licked you.'*

*'Dragon smooches'* Irvine quipped, his ears flitting constantly. *'Unbelievable. You attract the weirdest sorts, Zell.'*

The petite blonde picked his soggy shorts up off the ground. The baggy 'Lovers' shirt easily covered his juggling shumi boxers. *'Tell me about it. Why does everyone automatically assume I have a _boyfriend_? Did someone stick a 'Property of Seifer Almasy' sign on my back when I wasn't looking?'*

*'Something like that'* Squall hedged. *'I think the koneko equipment's gotten enough of a workout today. Let's head back to the Garden.'*

The two older youths began leaving the clearing. Zell folded his arms crossly, and tapped one foot against the ground. *'Whadda ya mean, 'something like that'? I don't even _like_ Seifer!'* Gritting his teeth, he trudged angrily behind.

.oO0Oo.

The three SeeDs entered the Commander's quarters later that afternoon, after a brief stop by a handy trash bin out in the lobby, where the two older boys had enthusiastically tossed away their mittens. Squall pulled out his _Hello Kitty_ keychain and nimbly unlocked the door. *'Now, we all agree on our story in case Seifer asks about the mittens, right?'*

*'Yeah yeah, Chuck took mine, and yours had to be unraveled to form a rope to save a poor lady who'd fallen off the edge of a cliff.'* Zell favored the other two men with a dubious look. *'Do you think he's gonna buy it? I mean, it's such a flimsy excuse — and besides, Rinoa already did that.'*

*'Well, but Seifer wasn't _at_ Balamb Garden when it happened.'* Irvine tried explaining.

*'No, but he was looking at my pitiful rescue attempts through a pair of binoculars and laughing his ass off.'*

*'You do have a point, but it's too late to come up with a new story.'* Squall opened the door to the room and stepped inside. *'Hopefully, Seifer won't even notice; just keep smiling, and…'* the scarred, hazel-eyed man sniffed the air appreciatively. *'What smells so good?'*

Seifer, who'd been standing by the window, welcomed back the three young men. "So, how did the trial go on the koneko units? Cid's been calling here every hour, askin' if you'd gotten back yet."

"It went fine," Irvine muttered vaguely, trying to place the delicious aroma that filled the room. "Ah, it smells like berries in here…" Which was, indeed, a curious thing for the room to smell like. Its customary odor was that of over-boiled grat. It made for a pleasant change.

The tall blonde man smiled wickedly, and gestured to the table, where, nestled in amongst broken pieces of electronic equipment, there rested a cake holder. "I thought I'd treat ya guys t' something special. Since we were practically next door to Timber, I thought I'd run into the bakery and see what they had. What you're all smelling is their 'World Famous' blueberry cheesecake. Guaranteed to satisfy even the most demanding sweet tooth."

"Blueberry cheesecake?" Zell ran up to the table, and started to lift the lid off of the cake holder. When he saw what was hidden underneath, he let out a squeal of excitement. "It _is_ blueberry cheesecake! Where do you guys keep the plates?"

"Ah ah ah," Seifer admonished, taking the frosted glass lid out of Zell's hands and placing it to the side. "No cheesecake until you show me your mittens. That's the rule; no exceptions."

Ears slumped, the three young, tailed men looked woefully at one another. "About that," the longhaired, suave-talking youth tried justifying their lack of mittens. "Squall and I, we had to sacrifice ours, to save a gal that had fallen off a cliff. We used the yarn to make a rope, and pulled her back up to safety—"

"You threw them in a dumpster," the scarred blonde accused, while pulling a knife out from a drawer. "I'm not _that_ stupid. I had Fujin watching for ya, and had her report in t' me. She told me what ya did. Which means, no cheesecake for you until you come back with your mittens. Have fun digging through all that garbage." He cut himself a large piece of the cheesecake, and placed it onto a paper plate. "You'd better hope there's some left by the time you get back."

"But… but, I can't get mine back," Zell wailed mournfully. "I gave mine to a ruby dragon." His stomach gurgled in sympathy; both were desperate for the sweet laid out on the table.

"Is that the best excuse you could come up with? Not even that the dragon _took_ them? Ya just gave them away?" Seifer started snickering. "I don't know what you did with your mittens; Fujin didn't see ya toss them. If you want some of this," he waved a fork full of cheesecake enticingly in front of the smaller man, "you'd better at least come up with something I can believe."

Squall, who'd been on his way out the door, cleared his throat. "Zell, I think someone wants to see you." He pointed at the large window.

The petite, spiky-haired blonde turned around, coming eye to eye with a sleekly muscular red dragon, who was peering curiously into the room. *'Chuck! What are you doin' here?'*

*'Just came to see where you lived, sweetie. And I wanted to check out the guy that snatched you away from me. I want to make sure he's good enough for you, dearest. Is he in?'* The dragon exhaled softly, and gazed at the young man adoringly.

"Seifer!" Zell squeaked. He hadn't expected the lovelorn dragon to track him down. When Chuck had said he'd see him later, Zell had assumed it to be a figure of speech. He wondered what the headmaster would say about his monsterish visitor.

The scarred blonde approached the window, his eyes fixed on a snarl of red tied around one of the dragon's claws. ~Well I'll be… The Chicken was telling the truth.~ Apprehensively, he reached for his gunblade. "Yeah Zell?"

"I'd like ya t' meet Chuck. He's kinda curious about you." The petite blonde boy gestured towards the taller man. *'Chuck, this is Seifer.'*

Chuck glared at the scarred youth. *'Why, he's just a puny little thing. Are you sure you wouldn't be happier coming home with me? Momma would just love having company over.'*

*'I'm sorry. My home is here; all my friends, my job, I can't just leave them behind.'*

Seifer watched as the dragon and Zell stared at each other. He didn't like the look in the dragon's eyes; soft, and caring, and full of worship. It was starting to get him mad. No one had the right to look at Zell that way; the tall blonde had already thrashed several SeeD cadets who had dared. Lips curled in a sneer, he marched up to the window and threw his arm about the smaller boy, tossing the reptile a challenging look. "Pleased t' meet ya, Chuck."

The ruby dragon blinked, then hissed. *'My, he is a possessive one, isn't he?'*

*'Uh, yeah'* Zell squirmed, uncomfortable. "Eh, Seifer, could ya maybe ease up a bit? You're squeezin' me t' death."

"Not until lover-boy here leaves," the older man whispered back.

*'Chuck? Would you mind if we finished talkin' some other time? We're kinda busy right now…'* Zell prayed the dragon would accept his excuse.

*'Sure thing, sweetie!'* The dragon nodded graciously. *'I should be heading home anyway. It's a long flight back to the Centra continent. Feel free to drop by whenever you happen to be in the neighborhood.'*

*'I'll keep it in mind'* the azure-eyed boy reassured, as the dragon neatly twisted itself about and started flying away. *Take care.'*

"What was that all about?" Seifer snapped, releasing his hold on the younger man.

"Chuck has a bit of a crush on Zell." Squall idly toyed with one of his belts. "We ran into him on our patrol today. He wouldn't leave until Zell gave him the mittens."

Seifer rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Okay. It almost makes sense in some warped fashion." He walked back to the table, and picked up his plate. "The Chicken-wuss can have his share of the cheesecake." He grinned as the hyper blonde whooped in delight. "You two, on the other hand," he stabbed his fork in Squall and Irvine's direction, "have trash t' be digging through. Unless," he offered smugly, "you have a girl with a yarn rope t' introduce me to."

"That's not fair," the lavender-eyed youth complained.

"Deal with it." Seifer lifted another bite of cheesecake to his mouth and chewed it with relish. "The longer you take, the less chance there'll be any left by the time you get back."

*'Let's go'* Squall commanded, casting one last longing glance at the cheesecake. The two men hurried out the door.

"Woohoo!" Zell burbled, bouncing with excitement. "Where's my piece?" He sat down at the table, and gazed hungrily at the blueberry-covered dessert. "It looks delicious."

"It is," the tall blonde agreed, lifting up another forkful. He steered the utensil towards Zell's face. "You wanna taste?" Obediently the younger man opened his mouth, allowing Seifer to feed him the bite. He pulled back his arm, and watched the petite boy chew. "So? What do ya think?"

Zell licked his lips fastidiously, and slumped down into his chair. "Heavenly," he murmured, his eyes opened to the barest of slits. "More?" he begged shamelessly.

The scarred blonde chuckled, and scooped up another bite. "What should we do tonight? It'll be hours before those idiots get back. The truck's already been by to pick up the garbage. They'd have to go to the Timber Dump to stand any chance of finding their mittens." He watched avidly as the tattooed boy licked the fork clean.

"I dunno; I'm already having a good time," Zell said thoughtfully, tugging at his 'Winhill is for Lovers' tee, his ears relaxed. "I still need t' go clothes shopping; Nida ruined just about everything I own."

The taller man fed his companion another piece of cake. "That's an understatement. You're not even wearing pants." Seifer leered, his pale-blue eyes afire with mirth. "Although I must say, the juggling shumi's are almost unbearably cute on you."

The petite blonde closed his eyes completely and moaned. "Aw man, I'd entirely forgotten about that." He pulled off the worse-for-wear 'Lovers' shirt and crumpled it into a ball. "Do you have anything I could borrow?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind it all being too big. You're a shrimp, Chicken." Seifer got up and began rummaging around in the back room. He returned carrying a small pile of clothes. "What _did_ happen to your shorts?"

"You don't want to know," Zell warned him, struggling to get the fresh pair of pants on over his tail. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

**The End  
Like, totally! **


	3. Balamb Town Musicians

_**Disclaimer:**__ Esse doesn't own the characters of Final Fantasy VIII. She does own a computer, which came with a nifty-keen ergonomic keyboard, and she makes use of them as she will. Money is never made, only lost. _Square_ is a cruel, cruel overlord. _

_**Notes:**__ I promised Emily a birthday ficcie long, long ago. This is the one I first started working on. There are bits and pieces of several more floating around. One day, I'll finish them as well. I wanted t' give her something much nicer. ::shrugs wearily:: But by now, I'm happy t' have something t' give her at all :D Ficcie is placed, as all these type stories are, in the __Guidance Councillor__ universe. It does exist — just not in any form _you_ can see. A particular segment owes its origins to a long ago conversation. I think I'll leave it at that. _

_**Warnings: **__Oh, the poor, poor fairytales! This ficcie is limited by the fable it was based on. I tried t' work around it, but failed :\ It shows. ^^;; I don't think I even need language warnings in this one. Ah, a bit of innuendo… but that's only to be expected, right? Right?!? _

_**Thanks: **__To Emily, for proofing her own gift. She's the best I tell you, the best! _

_**FF Notes:**__ First posted to calicodragon 3/26/2001. Minor formatting changes to comply with FF. Minor corrections. Shounen ai._

.oO0Oo.  
**Balamb Town Musicians  
**.oO0Oo.

A certain Garden once had a cadet who for many years made the lives of particular other cadets unfailingly miserable. This cadet was well known about the campus; partly notorious for his arrogant smirk, partly for his prominent scar, and — most recently, for the skeins of yarn he carried about wherever he went. The vast majority of the Garden had no idea what the brightly colored balls of soft fiber were for; there was some speculation that they were used in some of the more obscure punishments handed out by the Disciplinary Committee. Mostly, this assumption was wrong, except for the small portion of it that was entirely correct.

Seifer was knitting a sweater.

Now, by itself, a sweater is a rather innocuous item. It provides welcome warmth during the winter season, a dash of cheer during holidays. People often give them as gifts. Seifer's sweater was no exception. It was warm — it was cheering — it was meant to be a gift. Preferably, a gift for someone nine feet tall, color blind, and possessing an inordinate fondness for smiling petunias. Seeing as how there was no one in the Garden fitting that description, the scarred young man settled upon the next best thing.

"I wonder if the Chicken-wuss would like some nice, fluffy clouds on it?"

It should be pointed out that young Mr. Almasy wasn't _deliberately_ trying to be malicious. Not that he had any moral objection against being malicious, mind you; some of his fondest memories centered around particularly catty pranks he had pulled upon the unsuspecting. No, this time his gift was heartfelt; he wanted to leave the gift's intended recipient with something that would be a constant reminder of someone that would soon be gone.

For leaving he was. He didn't want to go; Balamb Garden was the only home he could remember. But his birthday was a scant week away, and deep within the confines of his trench coat, he shivered. Certainly, there were rumors that the protocols had been changed, but he wasn't willing to take that chance. Since the Garden's inception, it had been standard practice that when a cadet reached the age of 19 without making either SeeD or obtaining a faculty position, they were tossed most unceremoniously out of the academy. This hadn't been too traumatizing while Garden had been a safely stationary school. However, since the Garden had become mobile… The tall blonde trembled again. The last 'Rousting of the Lay-abouts' he'd attended had been several months ago, and at that time, Balamb Garden had been floating serenely off the Esthar coast. Only one of the newly expatriated cadets had known how to swim. The event had cast a pall over the entire student body.

And while Seifer _was_ a SeeD, of sorts, he'd gained the position through trickery, and the forging of key strategic documents. He wasn't sure if his credentials could withstand even the slightest scrutiny, and with the administration's new policy of accepting paying students, they'd jump at the chance of throwing out a scholarship attendee like him. The scarred blonde wasn't going to give them the chance. He was going to depart Balamb Garden while it was safely hovering over solid ground, and he was going to find himself a real job, one that offered security, a pension, and with any luck, hour-long paid lunches.

So, he was spending his few remaining hours finishing up the sweater he planned on giving to Zell as a farewell gift. He knew the younger man wouldn't like the gift; he wasn't a sweater-type person. But Zell would wear it out of some misplaced sense of obligation, making himself an object of ridicule for those more fashionably dressed. It was that which sparked the small, mischievous smile on Seifer's face, and kept him from panicking at the thought of his imminent departure.

It was due to these musings that he completely failed to notice the figure standing quietly in front of his path, back turned, watching a deep-hued pine forest pass underneath the Garden. And, having failed to notice, how could he fail to bump into the man?

Squall lurched, using the tail of his koneko unit to catch his balance before he fell against the wall. He turned, and tried his best to glare at the person who had so rudely interrupted his contemplations. Tried. For even if it had been someone other than Balamb Garden's notoriously stoic commander, attempting to glare while wearing fuzzy white cat ears on one's head and a fuzzy white cat tail on one's rump was a difficult accomplishment. "…Seifer." Shrugging, the brunette casually dismissed his rival, and returned to his previous occupation — staring out the window, looking at nothing in particular.

"Kitten," the taller blonde mocked, his eyebrow arching. "What are you doing with Xu's equipment? Another test?"

Sighing, the hazel-eyed man backed away from the observation window. "Yeah. We've pretty much gone through everything the suits are capable of doing out in the wilderness. Now she wants to see how they stand up in a city environment. Xu seems to think there'll be trouble with the translating system, if it's confronted with too many sources at once."

"So, why are you staring out the window instead of going off on your mission? Don't tell me the Leonhart is playing hooky?"

The snowy tail twitched irritably. "Going out into the middle of nowhere wearing this contraption was one thing. But to walk straight into a city…" Squall's shoulders hunched, and his ears drooped. "I don't know what to do; I hate being laughed at, but Cid says my job's on the line."

The taller blonde was feeling generous. "It so happens that I was on my way to Balamb. Why don't you come with me? If someone starts to laugh, I'll bop them with Hyperion."

"Attacking civilians is against SeeD regulations. You'd be expelled." However, the brunette's right ear had pricked up hopefully.

"Like that would matter." Seifer snorted dismissively. "I'm going into Balamb t' find a job. I turn 19 next week, and I don't want to be around for the 'Rousting of the Lay-abouts.'"

"You do know they've changed that policy, don't you?"

"Yeah, I've heard rumors to that effect. But do ya think I'm gonna hang around and test it?" The blonde wriggled the black-gloved fingers of his left hand. "I'm a good swimmer, but I doubt I'd be able t' make it all the way to FH. Nah, I'll find work in Balamb, and settle down. Become a productive citizen. Maybe become a vegan — I haven't decided on that part yet."

The younger man crossed his arms, confusion showing in his stance. "Don't you already have a job in Galbadia?"

"Don't remind me." He pulled out another ball of yarn and began work along the sweater's collar. "They sent me another priority telegram yesterday. They don't understand; I'm young, I want a little excitement before I commit myself to some mind-numbing, life-sucking career." A trailing vine took form underneath his flashing needles. "I've always like hanging around the junk shops. Think they'd take me on as an apprentice?"

"…" Although he had serious doubts as to his roommate's sanity, Squall was thankful that he'd have company during his venture into town. He gestured at the brightly-colored monstrosity the other man was holding. "Almost finished?"

"Yeah." The scarred blonde held it out; the bottom of the sweater dragged on the floor. "I'm gonna give it to the Chicken before we leave."

Several possible rejoinders flashed across his mind, but the leather-clad youth settled for a non-committal, "…Whatever."

The two walked companionably down the carpeted hallways, Squall caught up in his thoughts, and Seifer almost literally caught up in his knitting. Both were taken by surprise when a door in front of them was flung open, spewing a tall, lanky form directly at their feet. "Pardon," the heap of tanned leather mumbled.

"And next time," a shrill, yet somewhat threatening voice screeched, originating from the small female who stood angrily in the open doorway, "try bringing something better than these pathetic flowers!" Said flowers, the same vibrant yellow as the shrieker's dress, came flying from the blocked room to land soggily on the sprawled man's beaten hat. "If you're going to stand me up, I expect jewelry, you dog! Something with topaz, something with style. Don't bother coming back until you have a decent present to give me." With one final huff, she slammed the door shut.

"Well, that went better than I expected." Picking up his hat, Irvine brushed the crushed flowers from it and firmly placed it on his head.

After completing a particularly difficult knot, Seifer put his knitting needles away and addressed the new arrival. "So what did you do to Selphie this time? She normally doesn't resort to name-calling."

"How am I supposed to know?" The lavender-eyed man shook a few stray petals from his ponytail. "You know how Sefie is; she says I was supposed to meet her for breakfast this morning. As far as I knew, we didn't have anything planned for today. I just thought I'd surprise her with a bouquet." He picked up the scattered daffodils, and stared at them bemusedly. "I'm pretty sure I didn't forget…"

The scarred, chestnut-haired man looked away and whistled under his breath. He knew that missed message would come back to haunt him. Not that he cared. It served Irvine right for leaving him in the room, bored out of his mind, to answer the phone while the others were out. Perhaps now the other two men would give in, and buy an answering machine.

"Tough luck," Seifer commiserated, offering Irvine a hand up. "So, any plans for the rest of your day? Besides thinking of ways t' appease Tilmitt?"

Irvine stilled, his gaze growing blank. "I really have no idea. Maybe go into town, check out the antique shops." He wiped his palms along the sides of his chaps. "Topaz. Does she have any idea how _expensive_ something like that is?"

"Probably." The scarred blonde was becoming impatient; he wasn't used to helping people. "What are ya gonna do with the flowers now?"

Mahogany hair in disarray, the taller man accepted the proffered hand, and got to his feet. "Heck if I know. They're not much use to me at the moment. Why, you want them?"

"Matter a' fact…" The ice-eyed man snatched the bedraggled arrangement from Irvine's grasp, and quickly tied the flowers together with a loose piece of yarn. He surveyed his handiwork with a critical glance. "Good enough."

"Umm…" Squall knew better, he truly did, but some questions demanded to be asked. Questions like, 'Can I have a bite of your sundae?' and 'Was this _your_ favorite pair of pants?' Some questions, when asked, spawned — not answers — but random acts of violence. Yet still, every once in a great while, Squall felt compelled to ask them. "…you're not planning on giving those to Zell, are you?"

"And what if I was?" The tone of voice wasn't defensive — oh no, never that. Haughty, arrogant, and if the situation warranted it, slightly aggrieved, but never, ever _defensive_. At least, that was the way it was supposed to work, in theory. In practice — that was a different matter. Not that anyone would have the audacity to point it out. Seifer was entirely too collected to ever be defensive. "They're his favorite."

In theory, Seifer also never sulked.

"Well, yeah…" the furry tail twitched, the only movement during a moment caught in time. "…but it hardly seems like something _you'd_ do. Romance isn't your forte."

The metallic ping of knitting needles being tapped together filled the hallway. "What's romance gotta do with it?"

Squall knew he was in trouble. Currently in vogue at the Garden was speculation on what exactly was going on between Almasy and Dincht. More and more often students caught the two together, exchanging insults, mock-blows, and light banter. No one could deny that _something_ was going on beneath the surface of their enmity. Some explained it away as a result of Kinneas' class. Others held firm to their belief that the unusual behavior was but a lull before renewed hostilities. A few knew the truth, and all but one of those knew to keep their yapping traps shut. It was somewhat surprising that a man famed for his complete lack of communication couldn't, for once, bite his tongue.

"…Why else would you give him flowers?"

There followed a spluttering burst of wrath that sounded vindictive, but accomplished little. "Because it's a nice thing to do!" A pause, while he thought his excuse over. He scratched his head sheepishly, and examined the bruised petals of the bouquet. "Damn, now you've made me all self-conscious about giving them." Shrugging, he spun around, planning on tossing the flowers into the nearest trashcan.

And promptly proved to himself, once again, the wisdom of looking where he was going, before he rushed off to get there. Running into people in the Garden's corridors wasn't on his list of favorite ways to spend the morning. He also mentally started another list: Places You Shouldn't Store Your Knitting Needles if You Plan on Falling Down. Seifer was fond of lists. He made Raijin carry around a large black binder that contained them all.

"Ow! Watch where you're going, you jackass!"

"Chicken!" Beaming, Seifer held out his first offering, the limp flowers now most definitely the worse for wear. "Imagine running into you!"

Zell sat up, and rubbed gingerly at his elbow. "I don't need t' imagine, ya just did it." He blinked at the yellow blur hovering scant centimeters from his nose. "And now you're tryin' t' attack me with shrubbery." He pushed the wilted flora away from his face. "What the hell do ya think you're doin' with — those — daffodils…" He brain finally began processing the various stimuli, and he reached out a gentle finger, brushing it against the crushed petals of one bloom.

"They're for you; I thought you'd like them." Narrow ice-chipped eyes turned away wistfully. "But I guess you don't. Nothin' for it, then, but t' throw them away…"

"No, don't!" The tattooed boy grabbed at the bouquet. "Don't you dare. They're beautiful." He got to his feet a trifle unsteadily, still a bit off-balance from the collision. A slight grin passed his lips, as his natural good humor resurfaced. "And totally unlike you. Ya keep doin' stuff like this, Almasy, and I'll begin t' think something's up."

Squall's hazel eyes rolled expressively, while Irvine covered up a laugh. Seifer wouldn't give them the satisfaction of his notice. "Ah, well, about that…"

The younger blonde sniffed at the flowers warily. "Yeah?"

And there it was, the first and foremost reason Seifer didn't want to leave the Garden, staring him directly in the face with an absolutely adorable expression mixed of distrust, friendliness, and impatience. "I'm — going to Balamb."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not coming back."

The azure-eyed boy tilted his head, lips pursing, as if tasting the answer hovering over his tongue. "As in tonight?"

"As in ever." The older man's hands fumbled with the folds of the sweater. "So… I made you a going-away gift." He all-but-tossed the knitted monstrosity to Zell. "Something t' remember me by."

Zell held the sweater at arm's-length, and studied it. Studied it much the same way he studied other unexplained phenomena, like the witches' ghosts that had taken to haunting the quad, or the bowl of grat porridge that was now teaching First Year Trig to a select group of underclassmen. That is — he stared at it with horrified disbelief, and only the presence of the wall at his back kept him from turning around and running for sanctuary. "It's — ah — lovely, Seif," all the while fervently hoping that he'd never be called upon to _wear_ the thing, "but what do you mean, you aren't coming back?"

Furry ears twitched, and Squall, who'd been listening in (as was his wont, since he'd discovered exactly how much fun eavesdropping could be), deigned to answer. "He's worried about the 'Rousting of the Lay-abouts'. I tried telling him the policy's changed," a minimal shrug, showing his lack of caring one way or the other over the decision, "but he's determined to make a new start of it in Balamb. I'm going with him for the next series of koneko trials, and," his tail pointed, "I suppose Irvine's with us as well for the day."

"You're leaving…" The little blonde thought he should be feeling something — perhaps relief, perhaps regret — instead of the hollow ping of denial that was chasing itself around his heart. He'd often dreamt, daydreamed, fantasized about his childhood tormentor leaving, but he had never actually thought it would happen. He found himself rather queasy over the situation; his psyche announced at the top of its lungs that things Were Not Right, and he entirely agreed with it. "Huh. You're not getting away that easily, Almasy. You leave, and I'll fail Irvine's class. Not gonna happen. If you're going t' Balamb, I'm going too."

"Heh. Your choice." His smirk could be excused its conceitedness. "On one condition…"

The smaller man stuck out his tongue, and began to struggle into the sweater. "You're so predictable." Eventually, he found the neck of the garment, and stuck his head through. The bottom of the pullover puddled about his ankles. "Happy?"

"You have no idea."

And so the four young men left the Garden, all filled with misgivings, and all tortured with the knowledge that they'd not soon be welcomed back. Luckily for them, Balamb town was but a short distance away, located on the other side of a rather picturesque forest, and a pastoral meadow populated by fluffy bunnies, rabid squirrels, and a few lost aliens.

Running his fingers through his long mahogany hair, Irvine waved a friendly hello as they passed by PuPu a third time. "So, what exactly are we going to do when we reach town? I know _I'm_ going to have to earn some money, if I'm to buy something fancy enough to get me back into Sefie's good graces." He shot a pointed look at the man walking to his side. "You're going to need a job as well, Seifer, if you're going to support yourself and your paramour."

Zell reddened. "Shut up Irvine!"

"…"

"You too Squall!"

The scarred blonde chuckled. "Hey, it's okay Chicken-wuss. They're just jealous; look at the shrews they got stuck with." He chucked a rock into the surrounding forest, unknowingly knocking a skulking T-Rexaur out cold. "But the question of a job's a good one. There isn't much I have experience with. Oh, I'm great at invading peaceful countries, but I've gotta feeling Balamb's not looking for a dictator."

Fuzzy white tail lashing from side to side, the hazel-eyed man broke his silence. "…We're all going to need employment. But who in their right mind is going to hire us?"

"And isn't that a wonderful mindset for a mercenary to have," Irvine muttered.

"Maybe we're looking at this wrong." Zell pulled at a loose bit of string unraveling from one of the neon petunias. "Who says anyone has t' hire us? We'll just get people t' _give_ us money."

Lavender eyes grew round, and a mobile mouth split into a condescending grin. "That's called 'robbery', and last I heard, it was illegal."

The younger man stomped one foot, tripping himself in the oversized sweater in the process. Only Seifer's quick thinking saved him from a nasty fall. "That wasn't what I meant!" he scolded from the shelter of the taller blonde's arms. "I was thinking we could be street musicians. Nothing _ever_ happens in Balamb; they'd be more than happy t' pay for a little entertainment." He craned his neck upwards, a flush staining his cheeks. "And, ah, you can let me go now, Seif."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart." Contrary to his words, his hold tightened.

The scarred brunette watched the two, his patience running thin. He'd always heard the expression 'lost in your eyes' but had never given it much credence. Now, though, five minutes had passed, and the two blondes were still gaping slack-jawed at each other, their higher brain functions off on vacation in some little, private, tropical paradise where liqueur was served in hollowed-out coconuts with novelty umbrellas sticking out of the top, and where Last Call wasn't announced until 4 in the morning.

Irvine covered his eyes with the brim of his hat. "I never thought two people, fully dressed, could be so indecent." He walked over and smacked the older man on his back, startling him into letting his catch go. "We've still got a few miles until we reach town; I'd like to get there before dark, if you don't mind."

"Hmm?" Zell blinked dazedly, then straightened. "Umm, yeah… Seif…" He licked suddenly dry lips nervously. "Ah… So what d' ya think of my idea?"

"Idea?" The ice-eyed man was too busy glaring at Irvine to be paying much attention. "About gettin' a room and…"

"No!" The tattooed youth waved his hands, flustered. "About us becoming street musicians."

"Sounds fine," Squall said, increasing his stride, wanting to get to Balamb before another _incident_ occurred. He had trouble handling Seifer under the best of circumstances; Seifer infatuated was nearly unbearable. "Except for one small problem: I can't play any instruments."

"Nuh-uh." Zell shook his head, causing his bangs to fly across his face. "Not a problem. I figured you could sing."

"Squall?!?"

"Shut up, Irvine!" The azure-eyed boy fought briefly with his sweater in an attempt to free his legs. "He's got a nice voice; sings in the showers all the time. 'Course, it's always the same verse…"

"Okay, so I'll sing," the scarred brunette cut in hastily, ears flat against his chestnut hair. "What will the rest of you do?"

"I know for a fact that I can't sing." Seifer crossed his arms pointedly. "In the shower, or elsewhere. And I've never played an instrument in my life."

"Doesn't matter." The tall Galbadian's long legs easily kept up with the new pace. "You'll be able to play any instrument you pick up. Freaky, no?"

One bronze eyebrow rose in disbelief. "You expect me t' believe that I can, without any practice, play the flute, or the piano, or a kazoo?"

"Maybe not a kazoo." Zell shrugged his shoulders, causing the embroidered vines to writhe. "But just about everything else… All of us orphans can do it. Well, except Squall, and I think that's 'cause he was brought in under different circumstances." Inside the sweater, he was sweltering, but hadn't yet gathered together the necessary courage to take it off. "When ya think about it — "

"I haven't."

"Seifer…" he shrugged again. "It's just odd, that all of us are musical prodigies. Sometimes, I don't think we're orphans at all."

"Now this I want to hear your reasoning on." Irvine fiddled with the edges of his vest while he walked. "If we're not orphans, what are we? And _why_ were we all at the orphanage?"

"Ah, well… Look, I'm not bad-mouthing Matron, okay?" The tattooed youth clasped his hands together in an attempt to keep them from flying about with worry. "But she came up with the idea for Garden. Soldiers specially trained for defeating witches, right? And who'd care if a buncha orphans got themselves killed in battle? No one, that's who." Defeated, he let his fingers play with his weakly spiked bangs. "However, ya need a super-smart soldier if ya want t' kill a witch. And that's where she ran into trouble. 'Cause the chances of an orphan being a genius is about nil. So, she needed a bunch of proven bright kids in a hurry. That's where we came in."

The group around him was expectantly silent. He resolutely went on. "I figure she hijacked a bus of musical prodigies: Us. Who knows, maybe we were on our way to perform a concert. Don't look at me like that!" He began pouting, teeth nibbling at his lower lip. "It's just a theory. I wanna hear yours, on how we can play any blasted instrument we pick up!"

"You're callin' Matron a kidnapper?" The scarred blonde mulled this over. "Hn. Works for me. I always wondered how in the world people managed t' find her orphanage; it's not exactly centrally located. But it does make sense, if she was tryin' t' hide us."

"I don't believe you're seriously considering this!" Irvine slapped his hat against his thigh for emphasis. "Matron wouldn't, couldn't… She…" Lavender eyes grew darker in thought, verging more towards the edges of a sunset sky. "I'm going to stop thinking about it."

Squall shook his head, the faint vestiges of a smile tugging at his lips. "Yet another unsolved mystery presented to us by Mr. Know-It-All Dincht." The creaking of his tight leather was scaring away the small forest creatures. It was, however, the perfect homing beacon for the newly awakened T-Rexaur, who was stealthily following them, thoughts of revenge, and a late evening snack, foremost on its primitive, reptilian mind.

"It's getting dark." And while it was just after dusk, and could hardly be called late, it _was_ rather shadowy there in the middle of the forest, and so Seifer wasn't quite pointing out the obvious. "I don't think we'll make Balamb tonight."

The chestnut-haired man scratched between his flickering white ears, puzzled. "But I can see it through those trees…"

"I _said_ I don't think we'll make it!" He pulled out Hyperion just in case anyone felt like arguing his point. Understandably, there were no takers. "That's better. We'd better set up camp. Who remembered to bring a tent?"

"Hey, I think I see a light over there," Zell called out. He would have called out even if he hadn't seen a light, because he really wasn't looking forward to roughing it in the woods. At least, not while wearing the Sweater. The Sweater made him too much of a target. He could swear the pearly clouds on it were glowing. Nothing yelled 'Eat me!' louder to predators than clothes that physically incapacitated their wearers. "It could be a house."

"But we're campin'!" Seifer argued.

"You can camp,' the pony-tailed man told him. "I, on the other hand, smell popcorn." He quickly started walking in the direction of the light.

"…Good luck…"

"Yeah, what he said!" The tattooed SeeD was prevented from following, though, by a tight grip on his shoulder. He'd known the sweater would be his doom.

"And where exactly do ya think you're goin'?"

"Ah, c'mon Seif! Popcorn!" He tried wriggling his way free. "It's getting cold out here, and I don't wanna spend the night worrying about something sneaking up on me." His lips quirked, and he flashed a sharp-toothed grin. "Including you."

"I'm hurt."

"You're horny. And nothing's gonna be happening with Irvie and Squall around. So we might as well go up to the house." He felt the chokehold on the neck of his sweater give. "Maybe they'll have some of those rice cakes you like so much."

"Oh joy." Seifer followed the shorter youth up the indistinct trail, paying no attention to the sounds of something incredibly large thrashing through the undergrowth behind him. "And for your information, I am _not_ horny."

"Wanna bet?" Zell turned around, his expression mischievous. Without warning, he jumped forward, catching the older man's mouth with his own. He wasn't sure who gasped, being too busy playing coy games with the other's energetically invading tongue. He nipped, and sucked, and eventually pulled back to take in a ragged breath. "Now what do ya hafta say for yourself?"

Seifer nuzzled at the pale neck below him, his words muffled. "That I'm not the horny one here."

"Yeah mister. Then tell me this: Where are your hands, and what are they doin'?"

The ice-eyed man lifted his head, looking a bit surprised while he did a quick check. ~Well, my hands are…~ his eyes widened, as he squeezed to make certain. ~Oh — my!~

Laughing, Zell pushed the taller man back. "Like I said: horny." He continued up the trail, giggling softly to himself. "What's keeping you?" he asked, while pushing aside an inconvenient limb.

"Eh, I'm coming." The branch snapped back into position, swatting him in the face.

"From one tiny grope? That's sad, Seif."

The sound of Seifer not saying _anything_ filled the forest. He trudged ahead, features fixed into blankness. "They don't believe me, you know," he finally said conversationally. "I _tell_ them what a pervert you are, but they don't ever believe me."

"It's 'cause I'm cute." The azure-eyed boy stumbled across the house's porch; by now, it truly was dark. "For some reason, they can't visualize kawaii with hentaisha. Boggles the mind, don't it?"

Squall was peering in through the front window, and hissed at them to be quiet. "There's people inside…"

"Well, duh, Commander." The longhaired man attempted to keep his voice low. "It's a _house_. People do tend to live in them."

The scarred brunette tried frowning, but gave it up as a lost cause. It was the fluffy cat ears, he was sure. "Your sarcasm is noted. So is your volunteering to knock on the door. Tell Biggs and Wedge hi for all of us, why don't you?"

"What?" Seifer, having more experience, found it easier to keep his voice low. "Don't tell me those two fools are here!"

"Here, in the house, and eating turkey and mashed turnips by the look of it." Squall settled back on his heels, at a loss as to what to do.

Zell, however, had no such problem. "Yo!" he shouted, banging one fist against the door. "Dudes! Let us in!" His last over-zealous knock broke the door off its hinges, and it fell in majestic slow motion to the ground. (Zell, of course, was used to the Garden doors, which were built much better. Garden doors — triple reinforced, and checked daily by the janitorial staff, who'd long ago gotten sick of repairing doors a certain hyper tow-headed kid kept busting down). "Err, umm, oops!" He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "Sorry 'bout that."

"It's you!" Wedge nearly choked on a wing bone. "You're the brat from the communication tower, and the prison! Why, I outta…"

Seifer came to stand behind the shorter youth. "Gentlemen," he inclined his head courteously.

"Sir!" The two ex-Galbadian soldiers stood at attention, the spoonful of mashed turnips held in Biggs' hand splatting messily on the floor and wall.

Irvine walked into the house, shaking his head. "I never understand the respect he gets." Picking up a turkey leg, he began stripping the meat from it, daintily chewing the long slivers. "It's not like we're in Deling, or something. Yet, wherever we go, he's getting saluted, and it's always 'Mr. President' this and 'Mr. President' that…"

"Lay off, Irvie." Zell pulled a plate from the cupboard, and began digging around in a drawer for silverware. "He's tried his best t' be incognito. It's not his fault the Galbadians pick their rulers for life."

Tail weaving lazily, Squall picked up the other drumstick and settled with it next to the fireplace. "As to why a homicidal lunatic is so well beloved… Some things can't be explained."

"Very funny." Seifer glowered at his roommates. "Do you have any idea how many times I've tried turning in my resignation? Do ya?" He ran a hand through his ruddy-blonde hair in agitation. "They just won't take 'no' for an answer. Or 'leave me alone you creeps.' Or 'I'm gonna call the cops!' They just keep bowing at me, and giving me edicts to sign…" He shook his head disgustedly at the men saluting him. "At ease, you two. We're just here t' stay the night."

Wedge lowered his arm, and gulped visibly. "Wonderful, sir. We'll just get out of your way…" Turning smartly on his heel, he fled out the open doorway and into the night beyond. Biggs was right behind him. Both were immediately snapped up by the T-Rexaur, who had been growing impatient hiding out in the bushes.

"Yowch." Zell winced, while handing a laden plate to the bulkier man. "So that's what's been following us all this time. Ain't he a cute little feller?"

The T-Rexaur tried roaring around its mouthful of ex-Galbadian soldiers, but failed dismally. Embarrassed, it trotted off into the woods, where it hoped to eat its snack in peace.

"Imagine, being done in by a dumb lizard." The ice-eyed man stuck his fork into the mashed turnips, then left it there when he was unable to free it.

Irvine had found the popcorn, and was happily munching away. "Guess the house is ours then, right?" He filled a glass from a plastic pitcher, and sipped. "Mmm, orange juice. Anyway, we should be able to stay here for as long as needed. Without," he pointed one long finger for emphasis, "anyone being able to find us. No one from the Garden knows we were heading to Balamb."

"Umm, yeah, about that," Zell twiddled his fingers together, while his keen ears picked up on one truly distinctive sound in the distance. "I happened t' mention it to the gatekeeper." He pushed his plate aside, no longer very hungry. "In case you've forgotten, they don't let us back in unless we sign out properly."

"And where's the harm in that?" The older blonde poured himself a glass of juice as well. "I wasn't _planning_ on going back."

Squall, who'd been busily listening to the sound the tattooed boy had only recently detected, tapped the heels of his boots against the slate facing of the fireplace. "It seems the gatekeeper blabbed. Unless my ears mistake me," and they waggled back and forth in a white-furred frenzy, "Quistis is headed this way in the transport truck. She should be here in a few minutes."

"Lovely." Regretfully, Irvine sat down the depleted bowl of popcorn next to the piece of meat he'd been chewing on earlier. He liked Quistis. Everyone liked Quistis. Only, she had the big-sisterly knack of ruining everyone else's fun by her very presence. Normally by commanding anyone who was close enough to help her find her missing socks. "She's going to haul us back to the Garden for sure, and I _still_ don't have a present for Sefie. Life won't be worth living for the next week."

All four young men shivered at the sound of tires squealing against the rocky path. Headlights blazed through the window and doorway, and a truck door slammed.

"Hi Quistie!" the azure-eyed SeeD called out, pasting a cheerful smile on his face. "Fancy meeting you out here."

"Zell." The pink-dressed woman peered into the house, her blonde hair fluttering in the light breeze. "It took me forever to find you. I finally decided to head in the direction the T-Rexaur was running from." She stepped inside, the length of her whip slapping against her hip. "Commander, Kinneas, I need you to get in the transport. Edea's having a tizzy fit — her little cotillion's tomorrow and the caterer just called to say she's stuck at Shumi Village because of weather conditions. Matron summoned you over an hour ago."

"What does she need us for?" Irvine asked, swinging his legs off the table.

"You're now catering the affair. Cid's crawled underneath his desk. Absolutely refuses to come out. He keeps whimpering, 'Barbecued grat, oh me, oh my,' over and over." She folded her arms neatly, a well-trained gesture of imperativeness. "Seifer, you and Zell aren't needed until tomorrow morning. Just make sure you're back at the Garden by 10:00."

"About that Trepe," Seifer held his posture stiffly, hoping to gain advantage from his height. "I'm not going back t' Garden. There ain't no way I'm letting them toss me overboard next week."

"What?" The blue-eyed woman looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

"His birthday's next week." Squall had obediently begun heading for the truck. "He's afraid of getting rousted."

"Oh, for the love of…" Quistis rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Almasy, even if we still had the Rousting, which we don't, you _specifically_ were excused from it by Edea. She filled out the proper forms and everything. By now, there isn't _anyone_ with enough authority to throw you out of the Garden."

"Really?" The scarred blonde's eyes glimmered suspiciously. "That's — great news. Don't worry, I'll be back in plenty of time tomorrow." He inclined his head at the one-time instructor.

"You'd better be." She nodded absently at both blondes, and grabbed Irvine's arm on the way out, pulling him along after her.

"So, guess you won't be leaving after all." Zell toyed with a spoon, his fingers tracing the curving edges. He let out a deep breath, ruffling his bangs. "It was kinda nice, though, imagining a life of street performance. No fighting monsters for a living, no putting up with Raijin's snores or Nida's thrashing…" Catching his reflection in the bowl of the spoon, he frowned, and tossed the utensil over his shoulder. "No more grat…"

"Hey." Seifer sat down next to the younger man, studying him. "No pressure; if ya still want t' do that, it's fine with me."

"No, it's not what I really want." He stretched out his arms, fingertips almost reaching to the ends of his sleeves. "Sometimes, it's just nice to pretend."

"I'm glad." The scarred blonde leaned back, and settled his feet on the table. "Which brings us to our next subject." He allowed the leer he'd been holding back all evening to show. "I believe your exact words were 'nothing's gonna be happening with Irvie and Squall around.' But as you can see, they're gone now…" He reached out possessively. "And I think you've teased me enough for one night."

"Ah ah ah!" Zell held out his hand warningly, while his eyes twinkled mockingly. "I do believe there's a condition…"

Greedily, Seifer began tearing off the sweater, not mindful in the least that he was destroying his own work. "You're so predictable." When the pullover was no more than scattered, tangled yarn, he picked up the smaller man and carried him over to the fireplace. "Happy?"

"You have _no_ idea!"

Thenceforward that night, no one else intruded upon the house, and the two remaining Balamb musicians were so pleased that they never wished to leave it again.

**The End  
~*~ and then some ~*~ **


End file.
